


A quiet life for small hands

by Tangerinetoad



Series: it must be fate, i found a place for us [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Cottagecore BAby, Cows, Cussing, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F Bernard, Fluff, Gen, Hopeful Ending, How Do I Tag This, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, It's literally just tommy being a farmer, Runaway TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Seaside, Tags Are Hard, Time Skips, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), You'll understand that if you read this, cottage, farming, kind of, more like forced baby acquisition, yeahh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28769385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerinetoad/pseuds/Tangerinetoad
Summary: Suddenly feeling a lot more nauseous and a lot less accomplished, he sat down next to the fire, which was now just a gentle smolder. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them, rested his head against them, and stared into the fire. One of his hands found its way to his neck, grasping the compass still hanging there. The wind was howling through the trees and if he tried he could almost hear a voice in it, calling something he couldn’t make out. Each creaking branch and rustle in the grass seemed to add to it, creating a sort of wild harmony. Despite everything, it was soothing, a lullaby he hadn’t heard since he was just a tiny baby in a basket, deposited in the woods in a strange moment of mercy, yet to be found by a man with wings.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Otherwise known as: I time-skip around a lot and fulfill my wish for Farmer Tommy with a baby
Relationships: TommyInnit & Clementine, Tommyinnit & Clara, all platonic bith
Series: it must be fate, i found a place for us [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2113320
Comments: 16
Kudos: 436





	A quiet life for small hands

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhh ok so this is my first time posting here, I really hope the format works. This is incredibly ooc, but I needed it. I wrote this all in the middle of the night sitting in a hanging chair, which I strongly encourage you to never do because wow, my back hurts now.  
> the title is two songs combined, A Quiet Life by teho teardo, and Small Hands by keaton henson  
> TW// slight description of burns, not really graphic, mention of off-screen deaths, and of course, cursing.  
> Also, this ~ means it's a timeskip. I really hope the way i typed it out works on this. EDIT: I fixed the format :)

Tommy stared at the wreckage of what was once his home. Not that it had ever really been his home in the first place. No, these ruins were what remained of his prison and he’d be damned if he ever returned. It was time to make his own way in life. No more following blindly in the steps of delusional older brothers.  
  
Off to the right there were woods that he knew led to a certain icy biome, home to another of his estranged family. He had no desire to head that way, not with the hatred that still festered in his heart. It didn’t matter what his best friend had done, he wasn’t ready to forgive the brother that lived there. He turned to the left.  
  
Ahead of him stretched miles of untouched plains, pristine in their wilderness. He could see a group of cows grazing in the distance and felt a pang of sadness, the memories of his beloved Henry brought to mind. For a moment he allowed himself to wallow in the hurt. It felt dulled, like someone else was feeling the emotions for him.  
  
That couldn’t be good, but for now he ignored it. He had a mission now. It was time. He forced a grin on to his sunburnt face, gripped the bag of measly supplies he’d scavenged from the explosions, and took his first step towards freedom.  


~~

  
“Fuckin’ shit fuck.” Tommy knelt in front of a pile of tinder, trying to light the flint and steel with shaky hands. He was huddled at the edge of a forest, too wary of mobs to go deeper but too tired to continue moving. He’d been booking it for two days, hopefully he was far enough away now that Dream would have trouble finding him. He needed a break regardless, the nonstop travel hadn’t really settled well on his malnourished and burnt body. The constant explosions during his ‘vacation’, as Ghostbur had called it, had left burns peppered up and down his arms. They definitely didn’t feel good but he’s been ignoring them for the time being, seeing as he was kind of a fugitive at the moment.

With another muttered curse, he finally managed to light the pile, quickly cupping his hands around it and gently beginning to blow. Slowly, the flames started to lick at the bigger sticks in the pile and he retreated, content to let it do it’s own thing. Once the blaze was big enough, he turned his attention to his arms. As he unwrapped them for the first time it was clear the burns weren’t doing well. The biggest ones had started to almost bubble up from his skin, the skin pink and irritated. It looked gross. The smaller ones didn’t look as bad, but they were just as tender. He pulled a face looking at them, momentarily wishing there was someone with him who could deal with this. Immediately after that he scolded himself. No one was coming to help him, he’d gotten into this mess himself and he wasn’t giving up now. Big Men didn’t fail.

Big Men also didn’t get exiled, was a thought he ignored. He was going to deal with these burns himself, and he was going to deal with them good. He’d teach these burns who was boss.

An hour later, or possibly even two, he’d kind of lost track of time for a while, he had successfully submerged both arms into a nearby stream. The water had soothed the irritated skin almost immediately, and he was reluctant to cover them with the same dirty bandages, but he had no clean ones and it didn’t seem good to leave his arms uncovered and vulnerable. Plus, if he was being honest, which seemed like a good thing to start being, he hated looking at the burns. They were just another reminder of what happened. What he caused.

Suddenly feeling a lot more nauseous and a lot less accomplished, he sat down next to the fire, which was now just a gentle smolder. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them, rested his head against them, and stared into the fire. One of his hands found its way to his neck, grasping the compass still hanging there. The wind was howling through the trees and if he tried he could almost hear a voice in it, calling something he couldn’t make out. Each creaking branch and rustle in the grass seemed to add to it, creating a sort of wild harmony. Despite everything, it was soothing, a lullaby he hadn’t heard since he was just a tiny baby in a basket, deposited in the woods in a strange moment of mercy, yet to be found by a man with wings. He fell asleep like that, reminded of a time before wars, before betrayal and manipulation and insanity and death.

A time he was going to get back.  


~~

  
“Please? I only have one emerald but I really need this food.” he was pretty sure he’d reached a new low at this point. Begging villagers for discounts, or jobs so he could actually earn emeralds to spend. The villager he was currently accosting was giving him a pitying look, arms folded gracefully in their robes.

“Child. Bread?” they extended a hand, a loaf of fresh bread appearing.

Tommy snatched it before he even registered what the villager had said, shoving the emerald at them hurriedly and stuffing the bread into his mouth with his other hand. “Wait-agh,” he choked for a moment on his mouthful, caught between offended that he’d just been called a child and grateful that he finally had food. A quick glance up at the villagers concerned face had him deflating. No sense picking fights. And oh, that thought caught him off guard. For once in his life, Tommy Innit didn’t want to pick a fight? God if Wilbur’d heard that he’d.. well he wouldn’t do much. Seeing as how he was dead.

He shoved those thoughts out of his head. It was too late to be thinking of that anyway, he’d been in this village long enough. It was time to head out. He’d been thinking of going towards the sea now that he was far enough away from the lands Dream controlled. Sure there were a couple bad memories regarding sea salt and waking up underwater, but he’d always liked the thought of a seaside cottage. Not that he’d ever told anyone that. They’d probably have laughed at him anyway.  


~~

  
Ahhh, the smell of sea breeze. The brine and sand and the distant shrieks of sea birds. As Tommy stood atop the cliff, feeling the breeze blow through his hair and the waves crash below him, he knew he’d made it. This was his home. He was going to wake up everyday to this view.

He surveyed the land around the cliff. The cliff itself wasn’t quite a ‘cliff’ more of a large hill, high enough that the tide didn’t reach, but still allowing easy access to the beach. Down the hill on the land side was a stretch of plains, where random groupings of sheep and cows grazed. It was completely reminiscent of Logstedshire when he’d last seen it and yet it was also completely different. He didn’t feel a looming presence at his back, waiting for him to mess up. There were no random holes, proof of Dreams aggression. He heard no monotone voice taunting him, no wispy hands running down his shoulders in a comfort that brought back more bad memories than good.

There was no one but him here. Him and his land, free to do what he wanted. Right now, he wanted to chop down some trees. He was going to build the best damn house anyone would ever see. Then he was going to build the best damn farm anyone would ever see. Then he was gonna live in fucking peace and happiness, if it was the last thing he did.  


~~

  
Someone had been stealing his carrots. He knew, because he counted his carrots very strictly every night, no matter if the horses always neighed at him like they were laughing. Especially Bernard. Bernard was probably the one eating the fucking things. He huffed, glaring at the stables where fucking Bernard stood, staring back with his smug fucking face. Clementine, his favorite cow (don’t tell the others), stood next to Bernard, staring with her big brown eyes. He softened immediately. Bernard horse-laughed at him. He threw his arms up in the air, his loose sleeves falling down to reveal his bandages. “FUCK YOU BERNARD!”

He shot him the middle finger for good measure. Bernard aside, there really was someone stealing his carrots and he was going to have to find them. He hoped it wasn’t a raccoon. They always made creepily prolonged eye contact with him. It was a whole thing.

First step, set a trap. A simple net pulley system should be good enough. Hopefully it was some small pest, not anything big. He shuddered to think how it would go if he caught some random person. He’d have to threaten them and shit, he was too rusty to do that.

With the trap set, he settled down to wait.

Barely an hour later, he startled awake from his doze, hand automatically drawing his sword. Whatever noise had woken him had stopped, leaving the faint sound of waves and his animals behind. He stayed tense, listening closely. There was someone breathing heavily, struggling against something. The trap had caught someone. By the sound of it, he hadn’t gotten lucky with some small pest.

Cautiously he reached out with his sword, poking the net, which he could now see faintly through the dark, illuminated by the hint of light his storage torches provided. It was hanging, clearly keeping something suspended above the ground. A muffled grunt was his only response, so he crept closer, deviating from his path slightly to grab one of the torches. As he brought the light closer, whatever was in the net seemed to gain a second wind, struggle renewed.

“Hey! Stop struggling before you hang yourself!”

“Well if you hadn’t trapped me in a net, maybe I wouldn’t be struggling, ya think of that?” the net-person said, sounding extremely disgruntled. Their voice was high and light, it reminded Tommy of heat for some reason, the kind that got so hot it felt cold. Blue fire.

“Whatever carrot thief, wanna tell me why you’re in my storage building? Were you perhaps going for some of my carrots again?” God, this was the most conversation he’d had in ages, not counting his one-sided rants to Clementine. It was invigorating, besides the fact that he was technically holding the other person prisoner.

“My name is not Carrot Thief! What the fuck, who would name a kid Carrot Thief? Is that like a title? You humans are weird.” the net-person/thing squawked. They had stopped struggling at least, seeming intrigued by the supposed human title they’d just been bestowed. Tommy stepped closer, finally illuminating the net fully. Entangled in the net was a..woman?

He dropped the torch.  


~~

  
Clara sighed. Again. For the fifth time in a minute.

“What the fuck do you want Clara.” Tommy finally asked, sewing pins sticking out of his mouth. He was repairing his winter coat, now that the cold season was here. It felt like just yesterday he’d arrived at this hill, ready to start his new life. Hard to believe a year had passed now. It’d felt like much longer when he’d been starving and running.

“Ughhhh I wanna go outside to the beach, come on you promised,” she drew the last word out, almost whining as she pouted.

He turned to look at her. She was wearing the same silver shirt and pants she’d been in when he’d caught her in his net, nearly a month ago now, except she filled them out better. Actual food tended to do that to you, he found. His own body had filled out again, no longer passing for a skeleton with skin. He could lift the hay bales with ease now, compared to the huffing and rolling he’d had to do at first. It really had been a long time.

As if she could feel that he wasn’t paying attention, Clara’s freckles flashed suddenly, the sudden brightness making Tommy flinch. The first time she’d done that he’d almost taken her head off with a shovel. Now he just rubbed his eyes.

“God fuckin’ fine jesus, impatient much,” he grumbled as he stood, brushing stray string off his pants and sticking the pins back into his pincushion. He stretched for a moment, luxuriating in the feeling before Clara’s pointed stare made him move. “Sometimes it's really hard to believe you’re older than me you know.”

Clara scoffed. “Sure buddy, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Tommy rolled his eyes when she turned her back, shoving a hat on his own head and following her out to the cold. As his breath turned into a cloud in front of his face, he gazed out at the view. It never got old.

The sea was frothing below his feet, licking at the bottom of the hill. It was wild today, and paired with the cold bite of the snow in the air, it felt dangerous. Like it knew something he didn’t. As he watched the waves tumble over each other, a sea bird cawed, announcing its dive as it spiraled downwards, towards the cold embrace of the sea. A glint caught his eye and he turned his attention to the beach. Clara’s silver hair greeted him, as she ran along the beach, arms above her head. She looked like she might lift off the ground at any moment.

The sea bird who had dived resurfaced, victorious. In his beak a silver fish wriggled. Another sea bird swooped down at the one with the fish, and for a moment Tommy thought he might witness a fight on the water. But no. Instead the second bird landed gently next to the first, and nudged him with their head, as though in thanks.

A yell from the beach distracted him. Clara was waving her arms at him, beckoning him to join her. A smile pulled on his face despite his efforts to quell it. With a sigh he began to pick his way down to the beach, to join his friend.

Out at sea, the two sea birds launched themselves into the sky, their wings brushing.  


~~

  
Tommy wiped his brow. Now that the warmth had begun to seep back into the ground, he had plenty of work to do. The soil needed to be ready for planting by next week at the latest. Sticking his hoe, lovingly named Dirt Crusher, into the ground, he gathered up the troublesome hair tickling his neck. It had gotten long enough now for a small ponytail, and every time he put it up he was reminded of quiet moments in front of a hearth, clumsily braiding strands of pink hair with his tiny fingers.

He’d found that a lot of negative emotions could be expelled through farming. There was something cathartic about stabbing dirt for a whole day. Certainly knocked him out at night. He probably got the best sleep of his life out here. Now that the negative emotions had an outlet, he often dreamed of more pleasant times, such as chaotic meals spent yelling just to get a word in, fierce snowball battles, or a soft voice singing him to sleep. It was nice to remember sometimes that not everything was bad.

Letting himself stretch for a moment, Tommy looked around at where he was. A few feet from him, Clementine sat, legs folded under her gracefully. She looked like a loaf of bread, something he’d seen village cats do as well. It was frankly adorable. The old girl had a hard time getting about nowadays, she’d been fairly old when he’d found her but now she was truly greying. Her brown coat was starting to lose fluff, and she hadn’t mooed quite as loud when Tommy had greeted her in the morning. He sighed, moving his gaze on. She was ok for now at least.

Behind her stretched his lands, much of it already tilled. He had sections for each plant he grew, and lately he’d been entertaining the thought of a flower garden. It could attract some bees, which would give him honey. Might be nice to have a Tubbee again. Tommy smiled to himself at the thought.

Just beyond the edge of his fields, a treehouse resided, still looking new despite the almost constant rain it had withstood during the first month of its existence. Usually the oak forest looked dark, like it was waiting for him to venture too close so it could drag him into its depths. The light wood of the treehouse however, truly brightened it up. Clara had claimed it as soon as she’d seen it, and Tommy had let her, content to let her believe she’d stolen it from him. Really he’d just gotten tired of hearing her snore.

She hadn’t been by for quite a while and if she had been a normal human he’d be worried, but as it was he was certain she could handle herself. If a centuries old being couldn’t, then the world was probably doomed. Even if that centuries old being reminded him of a hyper toddler at times. Clara would come stumbling back eventually. Just so she could whine in his face.

He huffed at the thought, retrieving his hoe from the dirt and preparing another swing. Enough with the meandering thoughts, he had a farm to work. This life of freedom didn’t come for free after all.  


~~

  
“TOMMY,” there was someone banging on his door. “TOMMY PLEASE OPEN UP, I NEED YOUR HELP!”

The voice was familiar, high and light and.. warm. Oh shit. Tommy rolled out of his bed, glad for once he’d collapsed in his day clothes. Stumbling down the stairs, he narrowly avoided a stray chair and fumbled the doorknob until it swung open. On his doorstep, dressed in a strange silver dress that seemed to float, stood Clara. She looked, somehow, older. There were new lines on her face, dark bags beneath her eyes. Her freckles were dull.

“Clara?” he leaned past her to see the yard. There was no one else. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Without answering, Clara stepped past him into the house. She was clutching her chest for some reason. He closed the door and turned to face her. She wasn’t clutching her chest, he realized suddenly, she was clutching a bundle of cloth, which a tiny hand stuck out of.

“Is that a fucking baby?” he questioned, voice wavering.

Once again ignoring him, she started unwrapping the cloth, slowly revealing first a tiny foot, then another, a second tiny fist to match the first, and finally a tiny face, scrunched up as though offended deeply. The baby, since it was evidently one, had messy tufts of blonde hair, softer than Clara’s sharp silver or Tommy’s own dark blonde. It was wearing a little blue onesie, adorned with faintly sparkling stars.

Clara ran her gaze over the baby, clearly scanning for injuries. Satisfied that nothing was out of place, she at last turned her gaze to Tommy, who’d been standing with an open mouth the whole time.

“You’ll catch flies if you don’t shut your mouth,” she teased, seemingly no longer worried.

Tommy spluttered, snapping his mouth shut and crossing his arms. “What the fuck? You just broke in here with a fuckin’ baby and no explanation and tell me to close my mouth? I don’t think so lady!”

“Shh!” she put her finger to her mouth in the universal ‘be quiet’ sign. “You’ll wake her up. And I didn’t break in here, you let me in. Give me a chance to rest and I’ll tell you what happened.”

He scoffed but relaxed, turning to the fireplace and lighting it quickly. Once it was roaring he dragged a chair closer to where Clara sat and stared expectantly.

“Ok well.. you know how I come from somewhere else? The star garden?” at his nod, she continued, “that’s where new beings are formed. I had gone back because there was a really large batch this time, they needed help. So I was taking care of this lil’ girl,” here she smiled down at the baby in her lap, “and something attacked us. I don’t know what it was, hunters or something worse, but we all scattered. Took our charges with us and fled. I don’t know where anyone else went but I came here because-” she took a breath “-Ineedyoutokeepthisbabysafe.”

“...”

Clara winced, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly. “See, whatever it was that attacked us, it got my scent. I managed to ditch it for a while but who knows when it’ll catch up again and I can’t really run with a baby..”

At his incredulous look, she grew solemn.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important Tommy. I know this is weird, but I know you can keep her safe better than I can on the run. I’ll return when I get rid of this thing tracking me. Please.”

“....Alright.” his voice was barely more than a whisper but Clara’s face brightened instantly. Her freckles were even glowing faintly.

“Thank you, thank you so much I promise I’ll come back as soon as I can, I promise!” she practically squealed, making Tommy pull a face, “She doesn’t have a name yet, but I suppose she’ll need one if she’s gonna live among you humans so early-”

Clara’s rambles faded in Tommy’s ears as he gently took the baby from her arms. The baby was still sleeping soundly, making little huffs in her sleep. Gazing down at her, he took in her features. They would probably change over time, seeing as she was literally a baby, but for now the harsh turn of her brow and the smattering of very faint freckles along her cheeks gave her personality. She was strong. Her little hands were even curled into fists, grasping at some invisible enemy. Despite that, her face was gentle.

He looked out the window, where he knew a gravestone resided, slowly being covered with moss. He could almost visualize the word on it, carved slowly and carefully, just like the creature buried beneath it had been in life.

“I’ll call her Clementine.”  


~~

  
Giggles fill the air. High pitched, almost bell-like, they travel on the soundwaves, reaching the ears of the many animals that surround the source. That source is of course, a small blonde baby, swathed in a sling of fabric that keeps her secured to the chest of one tall blonde boy, more man now, who hums at her as he makes his way to the animals. He brushes his hand against the gravestone in his path as he passes, a soft smile gracing his face.

To be honest, Tommy isn’t really sure if Clementine should be able to giggle. He knows practically nothing about child development though, so he’s kind of just hoping everything she does is normal and tries to remind himself that she’s technically not even human, so who knows how she’s supposed to grow. Compared to when she first arrived though, nearly four months now, she’s grown in leaps, able to crawl and sort of babble nonsense now.

He pats a hand against her soft head as he leans down to grab the sheep feed. As if sensing his presence, they start bleating from their pen. Farther down the barn he hears Bernard snort, judging the sheep and their enthusiasm. Tommy scowls down the path at him, not that it does much. Bernard is a fucking menace. It’s a miracle he’s even still alive.

He heaves the feed over to the sheep, pouring it in their food trench as fast as he can, still managing to pour some on a couple of the faster ones' heads. He tsks at how fast they eat. While they’re distracted, Tommy quickly darts into the pen, shoving open the lock that keeps their gate to the outdoors closed. He slips back out of the pen, satisfied that the sheep are now taken care of. Absentmindedly, he pets the wool of the closest, a black one he calls Jimmy.

Clementine somehow manages to whack him in the face in the next moment, shocking him right out of his contemplation. He rubs his jaw as he looks down at her head, where she is now chewing on a part of the fabric she’s wrapped in, and shakes his head. Who is he kidding, Tommy’s fucking whipped for this baby. He ruffles her wispy hair and continues on to Bernard's stall, steeling himself for a battle of true wills. He may have a baby now, but that didn’t mean Bernard would take it easy on him.  


~~

  
A particularly large wave crashes against the shore, and tiny fists raise in surprise. Clementine is resting in the sand, dressed in her own pair of overalls, matching with Tommy. She’s taken to the ocean recently, reaching her hands out to the sea birds above their heads and babbling.

Tommy watches the waves crest and break, hypnotized by the cycle of nature. The air is pleasantly warm, the sun high in the sky, and his only worries today are keeping Clem from eating the sand and the contents of Clara’s latest letter.

Clara has been running now for close to six months, and he knows, on a personal level, what that’s like. Her letters have been upbeat, but he can read between the lines by now, and she’s close to burning out. Whatever is chasing her hasn’t slowed down. He lives in fear that her next letter will never come, leaving him to wonder her fate.

For now though, he shoves the darker thoughts away and focuses on the day once again. Clementine is now attempting to eat a shell she’s found and he finds himself grinning as he takes it from her, even as she whines and makes grabby hands. Her small sun hat, which he’d traveled a day to get from the nearest village, is falling over her eyes and she looks adorable and innocent and like the baby she is.

Tommy tilts the hat back up, sticking his tongue out at her when her eyes are uncovered. She giggles, clapping her hands together in excitement. She’s started teething recently, which is a whole new nightmare, but she seems unbothered currently, happy to sit in the warm sand and smile. On the sea, a flock of sea birds land simultaneously, bobbing along with the current.

He can see a school of silver fish from his seat, their scales catching the sunlight. They race beneath the water, projecting joy even though they’re fish, unable to smile. In this moment, with Clementine beside him and the skyline as far as his eyes can see, there's not a thing he would change.  


~~

  
He’s farming carrots when he receives the news. Irony, that’s what they call it. It was carrots that brought them together in the first place, and now carrots will see them fall apart.

At first, he doesn’t want to believe it. There's no way she’s gone. She’s not even human, it isn’t possible.

He doesn’t break when he reads the letter. He doesn’t shed a tear while he pays the messenger, nor when he tosses carrots into the pot for supper. He doesn’t sob while reading Clementine to bed, or as he readies himself for bed.

No, he only cries when he reaches his own bed. He buries himself under the quilt she watched him make, and cries his heart out. His fingernails scrape against old burn scars as he rubs his own arms, desperate for comfort. It’s just another reminder of all he’s lost.

His sobs don’t stop when he registers a thump, only quieting as it's followed by the distinctive sound of a baby crawling against the hardwood floor. He sniffles for a moment, confused, before a tiny hand appears at the edge of his bed. With a grunt, Clementine heaves herself up, wobbly but standing, proud before Tommy’s eyes.

The sight pauses his tears, and he scrubs at them before sitting up. “Come ere’ Clem, what’re you doing up now?”

She grins in answer, her one tooth standing out charmingly. She pats his face with both hands, squashing his wet cheeks.

“Da-da!”

If he hadn’t just exhausted his tear supply, Tommy might’ve burst into tears right then. Her first word! She’d called him Dada! If only Tommy from three years ago could see him now, he wouldn’t recognize himself. Probably shout something about scams and threaten him. Didn’t matter though. What did matter was that this was his present.

Maybe things would be ok.  


~~

  
Tommy gazed out at his home. Every inch of this place had been built by him, for him. There was no one to take it from him, no explosions or betrayal or war. No, this was truly home.

The treehouse on the tree line of the oak forest still stood, two years later, sturdy as always. It had gained some more color, the result of a boring afternoon where Clem had required some arts and crafts, but the two handprints next to the door never failed to make him smile.

His house, now two stories, rose from the hill, casting a shadow over his back garden, filled with pleasant smelling flowers. A couple bees buzzed to and fro, busy with their honey making jobs. Inside the house, unbeknownst to Tommy, a compass that had hung silently over the mantle for three years buzzed to life.

Tommy stood next to his wheat field, hair tied back beneath his large sun hat, overalls on, matching with the baby strapped to his chest. He was thinking of his day's plans, deciding if he should clean the two gravestones that took center stage in his flower garden. The names had started to get covered by the moss and vines. Clara and Clementine the cow would've been deeply offended.

The unnatural rustling of leaves caught his attention and he half-turned, still deep in thought, only to make eye contact with a pair of familiar blue eyes.

Staring at him from atop a slope was a man he knew all too well, dark wings flared in shock behind him. The sun was silhouetting him in a moment of excellent timing.

A flash of pink and yellow caught Tommy’s attention and he watched as two more men, one with long pink hair and one in a yellow sweater, who looked more alive than he should, appeared from behind the first man's wings.

On his chest, Clementine gurgled.  


~~

**Author's Note:**

> Pssssst. This is completely unedited and I read through it once after I finished it. You're welcome. Hope you liked whatever the heck I just wrote, cause i'm not even sure i'll remember this in the morning. Also I know it got rid of all my tabs for some reason, so uhh i hope you managed to power through the blocks of text it created. Idk how to fix that.


End file.
